Our Darkest Descent
by Blaze0843
Summary: You agreed to do the favor. The Horrorterrors would, in turn, leave you alone. But the risk is worth less than the reward.
1. Chapter 1

**To be honest. I'm not sure why I wrote this. Just tell me if you want more, or not, and I'll oblige. I... I kinda just had this in my head for a bit. And I couldn't get it out, so I wrote it. Then, I, for some odd reason, uploaded it to FF...**

**So... Yeah. Uh, enjoy, I guess?**

"Rose," he says, just a soft whisper in your ear that sends shivers up your spine, "are you sure it's in here?"

The large mansion before you definitely doesn't scream "Welcome!" You want to analyze it terribly, to the point where it is an itch off your skin, that, no matter how hard you scratch it, won't go away. But with John by your side, he'd probably complain.

"That's the information I received from the Gods of the Furthest Ring." You say, but there's a hint of doubt in your tone that you just know John caught, because his gaze turns from one of confusion to fear. All you want to do is calm him down, say it'll be alright. But you and he both know that this wasn't going to be easy.

Still, he pulls himself together and puts on a face of bravado. He's easy to see through; you could read him like a book, for his sake, you hold your sharp tongue.

But that's him: he can show his emotions clearly, and you can't.

"And... you're sure Dave and Jade can't come with us?" John bites his bottom lip, a habit you've caught more than once.

You _wish_ they were here.

"It would be best if they didn't. They'd be of better use out here." To be quite honest, you're not sure what it is they'd be doing out here, but you just feel that it'd be better if they lost their Hero of Light and Breath, instead of Space and Time. As much as you hated to put a price tag on everyone's heads, the Heroes of Space and Time were much more important than the others in everyone's game. After all, if they screwed up to the point where it was unfixable, Dave could go back in time to fix it.

Being a little bit braver, you take a few steps forward and feel the cool railing of the steps that ascend into the house. They feel shivering cold, but you continue up the wooden planks that creak under your steps. Supposedly, the Horrorterrors, wanting to establish a diplomatic relationship, were requiring a "favor" that they needed. The only information they were given was to break into this mansion and look for a certain Orb. How you were to identify said Orb, you had no idea. However, it was supposed to radiate a huge source of energy. Hopefully, that wouldn't be too difficult to spot.

"I don't have a good feeling about this..." You hear him say, awkwardly grabbing your wrist lightly. You turn around to see his blue eyes filled in not only fear, but worry. Worry for you, you can tell.

"I know." You help guide him up the steps, so that you're side-by-side. His hand shivers in yours, so you squeeze to comfort him. It was so simple: Get in, grab the Orb, get out.

Of course, things are never that simple, are they?

There's a moment of silence as the both of you stand before the front door, which is mammoth. Standing over ten feet tall and five feet wide, it seems almost impossible to open.

"Think anybody lives here?" John says as he scans the walls, searching for a doorbell. The door is large and stone, so it would probably break your hand were you to knock.

"It looks to... abandoned." You say, still gazing in awe at its size. Finally, you decide to try and open it.

Nothing. It's locked, go figure. That wasn't really a surprise.

"Oh well. No one's home, let's just get back to-," John says rather quickly, but you silence him with a finger to his lips. He sighs deeply, realizing what you're thinking.

"We'll make our own entrance." A small, sly smile curves on your lips, and you look up for a window. Slowly, you feel yourself lifting off the ground, and you can tell John is following close behind by the wind blowing in your hair. "Stand back." You ask him and kick the window, shattering the glass and making you recoil. When you're sure it's passed, you lower your hands that you had put up in defense and climb through. You turn around, and John just floats there, undecided.

"John..." You whisper, trying to coax him in. When he doesn't respond, you drag him in, lightly, through the broken window.

You finally touch the red velvet carpet, and you realize the inside of the mansion is much, _much _cleaner than the outside. Granted, the eerie vibe still lingers in the air, but at least it has the decency to appear in the form of nice and clean.

"That's kinda... odd." John scratches the back of his head. "Must have a good landlord."

"Or lady."

"Or lady." John repeats with a grunt, and you chuckle to yourself. You start down the hallways, trying all the doors. None of them budge.

You turn back and say, "They're all locked. I'll try to find a key to-"

_Crash!_

"Or... you could just do the windy thing." John gives you an uneasy smile, and the two of you enter the small room. It looks like a guest bedroom, with empty drawers and a closet, and a nice velvet green bed. Except there's a note on the bed.

"What's it say?" John asks you as you read over the note out loud.

"4/6/05... Today, I went out and played with Callie today. We only had a few minutes together, though, 'cause Daddy came out and scolded me. He forced me inside and said goodbye to Callie. He asked me why I hang out with a poor girl like her. I told him I liked her, and..." You trail off. "The note ends here. The fine ink is smeared."

"Fine ink?" John asks, taking a closer peek over your shoulder, so that you can feel his breath on your neck when he talks, "Like, a quill pen fine ink?"

You muster all of your energy just to keep from blushing. "Yes, most likely."

"What kind of family uses quill pens in 2005?" John asks, and you shrug, shoving the note into a pocket on your long robe. "The reason why you're keeping it?"

"It couldn't hurt." You reply, and walk out of the room, John close behind. He does the windy thing again, opening up a second door. You'll never get tired of that.

This room is almost identical to the last, except the wallpaper is different, this time with a floral pattern, as if it were a kid's room. There's a stuffed teddy bear on the bed, that's all too adorable.

"If only it were a bunny..." John gives you a toothy grin, and you smile back. That's your John, always making jokes, even in the volatile times. You search the drawers, finding a few cylinder-like objects in there.

"What are those?" He asks, picking up one curiously and rotating it at different angles. "Some sort of... tinder-cylinder?"

You give a soft chuckle. "Close enough. It's a Tinder-box." You open it up. "Like a lighter, used in the olden days to light up candles and such."

"'Olden days'?" John gives a scoff. "What is this, the 1900's?"

Even though it was supposed to be a joke, you give a twitch of your lips, deep in thought. "Possible. This house could have been built in the late 1940's." Your eyes scan the room, "This house could have been passed down."

"If it was passed down, then does that mean that the current heir... uh..." He whispers, "died?"

You give a slight nod of your head, trying your hardest not to look at John's face and see his reaction. Instead, you step outside of the door, looking down the hall. You feel a slight headache coming on, but you try your best to ignore it. No point in worrying John any more.

This time, you travel all the way down the hall, opening the door at the end. It leads you into a much larger room, which looks like it could be some form of living room. A fireplace greets you with warmth, and you're grateful for it being lit.

Wait a minute... lit?

"Rose..." John steps a bit forward in front of you, "fireplaces aren't supposed to be lit if a house is abandoned, is it?"

You shake your head. "No. No, they're not."

The couches seem nice and comforting. You decide to sit on one, just for the hell of it, and you instantly sink in. Wow, this is extremely comfortable!

"John, you have to sit on these!" You bounce a bit in your seat, "Whoever lives here certainly has a taste in décor."

John obliges, and takes a seat next to you. He begins to bounce, and you laugh as you're sent into the air from his weight. You place a hand over your mouth, trying to hide such a reaction that was not acceptable for one of your dark nature. John sees through this instantly (boy, does he know you better than anyone else), and removes your hand. You break into laughter. He sees this as an opportunity for a game.

"Oh God no, John!" Your laughter fit increases as he nestles his finger on your sides and begins tickling you. He's the only person who knows your dark secret. He's tickling you to the point where you feel as if you're sides will split.

"Come on, Rose. You know you like it!" His toothy grin just makes you laugh even more.

"John, it -hah- hurts!" You try to push his hand away. Sighing, he retracts his hands, and you try to glare at him, but you're laughing too hard to do so. "J-John!"

"C'mon Rose." You feel yourself beginning to flush as he comes closer. Realizing just how close you two are, he brings himself back. "Uh, sorry, there." He scratches the back of his head in embarrassment.

You clear your throat and stand up. "Apology accepted."

"For the closeness?"

"No, the tickling." You smile just a bit and walk off, waiting for John to follow through the house.

And you begin to realize just how glad you are that he's here, and Dave and Jade aren't.

You sort of half-lead John through the second hallway, mainly because he sometimes takes the lead ahead of you, until you both happen upon an unlocked door.

"Hey! There's a rare occurrence!" John smiles and opens the door for you, allowing you to go first. You give a nod of gratitude and step inside. It lead into a room that looked like a dining room. There was a second door on the other side of the room, which you assumed to be a kitchen.

"Well, this seems like a nice dining room." You note and walk around the table, feeling the fine wood. "Although, extremely dirty," you add as you wipe a large thing of dust on your index finger.

John gives a nod and throws a moldy loaf of bread to the side. "Yuck. Wonder how long that's been sitting here?" You're looking at a painting on the wall when he calls you over.

"What is it?" You ask, but he doesn't answer. He only points to a key that had been trapped under that moldy bread, and boy did it smell like it! John picks it up, putting it in his pocket.

"That could be useful." He says, shrugging his shoulders, "If we only knew what door it went to. After all, we passed about a hundred locked doors."

"I think you're over-exaggerating." You say, crossing your arms.

"I think you're right." John grins, but it doesn't last long until you both hear a crash come from the other room.

You freeze, your eyes fixated on the door, anticipating movement. However, you both hear nothing. Seconds pass in silence.

Tick...

Tock...

Tick...

Tock...

"Please tell me you heard that..." John whispers in your ear.

"Yes, I did." You reply, but you don't face him. You're still watching the door like a hawk watches a rabbit. Waiting. You just know that, as soon as you let your guard down, something will pop out. It always happens.

You let your guard down.

Then, without warning, there's a loud thump on the door, and you recoil in fear. John catches you before you hit the table, and you both just stand there, staring at the door.

You're suddenly snapped back into reality, and you push John to the ground. "Under the table!" You hiss, and you both crawl underneath the dining table.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Crash!_

You both jump, so that your backs hit the table. You curse silently to yourself, and hug John tightly. There's footsteps coming forward, but they don't look like shoes. Grunts and sounds come from the person, and you both try your hardest not to breathe a word, let alone a breath.

John squirms, so you grab his hand to try and help calm him down. It somehow works, and you hear his breath slow down. Sweat trickles down your forehead, and you use your free hand to wipe it before it hits the ground.

Whatever it is, it's still there. And not going away. It's at time like these you wish you had brought your computer with you for PesterChum. You don't dare say a word, lest the person outside hear you.

John seems to agree, but he looks at you with eyes of, "What the hell is going on?" You wish you had an answer. As a Seer, you always seem to have the answers. But right now, you don't.

Once it's stepped outside the door, you can hear it walking down the halls. It's then that John thinks it's safe to talk.

"What the hell was that?" John whispers, looking into your amethyst eyes.

"I haven't a fathom." You see John biting his bottom lip again. Bad habit of his. Note to self: buy him some chap stick later.

That is, if you ever get out of this house alive.

You both crawl out from under the table, sighing in relief that you made it. John seems to still be holding your hand tightly, but you really don't mind. In fact, you hardly notice.

"That was fuckin' close." John wipes the sweat off his forehead with his free hand, and you, being out of breath, can only nod in agreement.

You stay there, on the ground, for a few minutes, just to make sure he/she/it doesn't come back. After awhile, you take a peek out into the hallway.

"Nothing." You report to John and go back inside the room. "Except for the fact that the door is completely broken off its hinges, everything is good." John gives a quiet laugh, just in case, and opens the door into the kitchen. You follow close behind, but John is blocking the way into the room.

"What? What is it John?" You ask, trying to squeeze through. He just stares in awe, and you finally see what he was looking at. Then, he gives a soft, but awed whisper:

"Holy fuck."


	2. Chapter 2

**The funny thing is, I'm eating S'mores while I'm writing this. :P**

**S'MORES.**

**Hell.**

**Fucking.**

**Yes.**

Dead bodies. So many dead bodies. The smell. Oh... fuck, you think you're going to be sick.

There's a pile of dead bodies that could resemble Dave's pile of naked puppets, except these men were once _alive. _It makes you sick to think that someone killed them, and then just dumped them in here like they were trash.

Some were missing limbs, as if they were chopped off in a clean cut.

"What the hell... happened here?" John whispers as he steps forward bravely, dodging the decaying bodies.

"It seems... they were..." You clear your throat, "Dismembered. And thrown into... that pot there." Oh shit. Realization starts to dawn over you. You see the look on John's face that tells you he has too.

"Oh... fuck..." He holds his head and rubs his face in despair, "so, we're dealing with some kind of sick cannibal? Oh, fuck, man." You grab his hand, trying to help calm him down. It doesn't seem to work.

"Wow, so this is some kind of sick game, huh?" John grits his teeth and storms off to the other side of the room, avoiding the bodies and plugging his nose to keep the smell out.

You sigh, and investigate the room, avoiding the pot on the stove with legs and arms in it. Deciding to investigate a shelf full of bloodied tools, you find a few tinderboxes next to them. That makes for a total of five tinderboxes. You move some boxes and search under them, but there's nothing of interest. Moving over to the counter, the last place you wanted to check, you move he pot with a single finger towards the edge of the counter and find a note in it place, for some reason. You decide to read it out loud, knowing that John can hear you.

"5/9/05... Father gave me a lecture that I was supposed to marry a lady of another household, and that I couldn't be with Callie, because she was poor. But I don't understand why we can't. I mean, why does fame and money have to separate us? I'm really confused.

On the bright side, two days ago was my birthday. Callie snuck a gift into my private mail, she's so sweet! It's a really cool stuffed teddy bear. I named her Callie."

John looks as if he's waiting for more, but you continue, "That's it. There's nothing else after it." He looks a little disappointed, but you give him a soft smile and shove the note in your pocket. "I... I apologize profusely for forcing you to come with me." You say, and give a small pout on your lips. God, why did you have to be such an idiot and drag him with you? It could have been only you stuck in this mess.

"Hey now," John approaches you, "I don't think I could forgive myself if I let you go in here alone. I mean, look what we've already run into!" He gives a soft laugh, and so do you, even though neither of you are in the laughing mood. Really, you're just trying to lift each other's spirits up.

You know John. He would never leave you to do something like this alone, because that's just the way he is. A friend-leader. But that's what you like about him.

"Come on, let's get out of here." John lightly grabs your wrist and leads you out of the room. Well, more like escorts you.

The outside room is still as creepy as it was before, only the fact that a person was wandering the place made it even more terrifying. You try your best to ignore that fact. You fail miserably.

You two travel down the hallway slowly, to the point where it's killing you and you want to break out in a run. For no reason whatsoever, except that you feel something's following you. Maybe because there might be?

As John pulls you, you stare at the walls that are starting to become scratched and pale. The carpet beneath you, stained with blood. John doesn't seem to notice. Maybe it's just you going insane? You close your eyes, trying to block it all out, but there's this sound that overcomes your inner mind. Yeah, you're definitely going insane.

Finally, he opens another door and you go inside first, happy to be out of the hallway. Instead, this one brings you down a flight of stairs, and it seems like you're going on forever. John is behind you, as if he wants to catch you if you fall. And you feel as if you just might.

When you reach the bottom, there's a second door at the end. You swing it open, and are brought into a much larger room, and a higher ceiling makes you feel less trapped. There's a fountain in the middle with cool water that makes you feel calm, and the pair of giant doors that you recognize from the start.

"I'm guessing this is the main hall?" John says as he steps forward to the railing. He proceeds down the left light of stairs. You proceed down the right flight of stairs.

"It can only be." You have to raise your voice so that John can hear you on the other end. He reaches the bottom first, and it instantly staring at the fountain. You take the time to gaze at the stone walls and marbled flooring.

"Whoever built this place has good taste in décor." Johns repeats you from earlier, and looks at the running water from the fountain. You're still searching the rest of the room. With a large scale like this, you have to search for the big picture. Like this door, over here.

"There's a door over here." You call to John, swinging it open. "And it's not locked. That's a surprise. Care to go down?" You say, realizing there's more stairs. Since you're both on the first level of the house, you can assume this leads down into the basement. A place you dread to go, but the two of you know you have to. John comes over and follows close behind as you both descend into the basement.

The first thing you note is that it's dark and damp. Extremely. It's at times like these you wish your aspect of Light allowed you to create a ball of light in the palm of your hand. Or that you still had your wands. Then again, the Thorns of Oglogoth weren't purposed for creating light. In fact, the opposite.

The both of you are now descending into the basement, through a flight of stairs that twist at the end, so that they're spiral. You feel the railing along the way, and actually come across a spider web. Yuck, why didn't they ever clean such a depressing place?

They being whoever owned this damn place, at least.

You can't see John's face in the darkness, but you can tell he's scared stiff. You don't blame him. He has every right to be scared right about now. You do too, but you try not to. There's a disturbing smell that overcomes your nose. You try to plug your nose in an attempt to seal out the fumes, but said fumes are strong enough to taste. You're forced to breathe it in.

"What the hell is that smell?" John asks. You don't want to answer.

You take a turn around the corner of an island, searching its counter for something, anything, useful. Speaking of which, you come across a lantern. Thank God.

"Yes!" You barely hear John whisper. It was probably only meant for himself to hear. He picks it up and tries to twist it on. "Uh," he says, dumbfounded, "Rose, it's not working. It's not fucking working." He seems to be getting frustrated as he tries twisting it harder.

"Let me observe." You say, lightly taking the lantern from his hand and opening the side lid. Well, what do you know, it's out of oil. That was just mean. A lantern with no oil.

You don't even have to say anything, because John's already seen what you opened. Empty canteen. He walks away in frustration, but you keep the lantern in case you ever come across oil. Who knows? This house has dead bodies, so why wouldn't it have oil?

John has already made his way into the next room, so you oblige yourself to follow him. It's not hard to see his frustration, and you wish there was something you could do to help him. But there isn't. All you _can _do is walk by his side and tell him everything is going to be okay. Even when it isn't. And you both know it's not.

"What the hell was this... this... cellar... even used for anyway?" John mumbles under his breath as he struggled to think of a word. "Dead bodies?" He continued, as if he were trying to get you to laugh. But you aren't exactly in the laughing mood, and neither is he. Many wine closets are stacked against the wall, as well as fermentation machines used to create them.

"The fermentation process takes years to fully complete." You say, your hand grazing over the rust of it. "Not only must they have their own grape garden, but this concludes the house is much older than we think. Especially since these bottles have laid untouched."

"Did you get that from your..." John stumbles over his last word. You know what he was going to say. He stopped himself before he could let you think about it, and blame yourself for it. For both of them. You see him scratch his head in embarrassment. "Ah... sorry. Nevermind." You give him a nod, as if you were giving him forgiveness. With your attention focused on him, you hardly even realized you've stepped into another room. Closets with open doors are filled with apples and bread, and other such foods. Most of them rotten; however, there are a few that look ripe for the picking.

"This must be the storage." You say, kicking a few empty wine bottles around. John picks up a few apples, throwing the rotten ones away to the side. He avoid the ones piled up in the closet, picking up the ones off the floor. "John, what are you doing?" You ask curiously as he turns to you, a ripe apple in his hand.

"Looking for something to eat." He takes a bite, apple juice dripping down his chin. "Phoure fwellingh fme fur mnot fhunghry?" He tries to say through a mouthful of apple. You chuckle, your hands at your hips.

"John, I'm highly skeptical about the purity of those apples. As well as the fact that it's not polite to talk with your mouth full." John gives you a toothy grin after he swallows and tries to hand you an apple, but you shake your head. "I'd prefer to eat something where I don't have a chance of contacting food poisoning." He shrugs, taking another bite into the apple he currently held.

A loud roar interrupted you.

John spat out his apple, nearly choking on it. He held his hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath. "What the fuck was that?"

You want to answer, but you hold your tongue. John does the same.

Footsteps.

A growl.

"Shit, he's coming this way!" You hiss at John, "Look for a place to hide!" John scrambles around, moving aside apples. You know that John _desperately _wants to say a joke, like, "Let's hide under the apples!" But the two of you are too scared for jokes.

You can hear it coming closer.

"Rose, what are we going to do?" He says after closing the door. It wont' stop him, but it'll buy you two time. Maybe just enough time to find a place to hide. But there's nothing in here. Nothing but apples, wine bottles, bread, and...

"John! The closet!" You tell him, pointing towards the overflowing pile of apples sticking out. The two of you work fast to remove the apples from their overflowing container. There's claw marks scratching against the door. He's trying to break in.

"Fuck!" John whispers as he moves faster, tossing apples aside to the point where they're hitting your arm. You don't say anything though. There's no point in complaining about an apple hitting your arm when there's a fucking monster outside your door.

"In, in, in!" John scrambled inside, catching your arm to pull you alongside. You shut one door while he shuts the other, and you both try to sit in the cramped space you have. It's quite... awkward. Being this close to John.

Silence.

"Is... he gone?" John whispers, not daring to open the closet doors. You shift against John, trying to make it more comfortable for both you and him. Except, it's impossible with the poor amount of space there is in the closet. Why the hell is it so small?

Then, you hear the door outside come crashing down. Powerful enough to tear down a door in ten seconds. Is it the same thing from before? The man upstairs?

No, you're starting to think that the thing outside is far from a man.

Whatever it is, it grumbles and moans. Searching for its prey. Prey that has escaped it, to live another day. The predator erupts in fury and smashes the bottles around it, desperate to find its meal. But its meal has escaped it once more. The dimwitted predator is too fucking stupid to look in the fucking closet and oh man this is going to end with death and... since when did you start to sound like John? Maybe being half an inch apart makes his derpy-ness rub off on you.

It grunts and growls continuously, and you start to feel your stomach churn each time. John is clamming up, his knuckles turning white from his grip on your hand. Heck, your hand is also turning white because of the lack of blood flow. You place your other hand on his to help calm him down, then wrap it around his arm. John's scared shitless, just like you, and you have to be strong to help him. Except, you're not sure that even you are strong enough for this.

You can tell it's still outside because of those disgusting sounds. But... it sounds like it's... sniffing now. Sniffing what?

John has a look of horror on his face. He looks to his hand, as do you, and you both make the discovery that John's apple is missing. Presumably outside. And that's what he's sniffing.

He knows his prey is here. And he won't leave until he finds it.


	3. Chapter 3

"Rose..." He says, below a whisper to where the only way you can hear him is if he was an inch from your ear. Strong tension in the air forces him to pause as the two of you wince from the... outside creature's growls. "what are we going to do?"

You wish you could give him an answer. But you don't. For once in your life, the Seer doesn't have an answer. It kills you inside, since you want to answer him. But instead, you give him a shake of your head. He gives you this solemn look, which hurts even more. Because that's your signature shake that tells him things aren't going to end very happily.

Your hand grazes the wardrobe door, pushing it out ever so slightly as to not disturb the man outside. Shifting a bit more towards John, much to the flustering of you both, you inch forward in front of him and peek outside, just your eye so that he can't tell you've opened the closet.

"W-well?" John whispers, leaning a bit forward, but not obstructing your view. "What do you see?"

To be honest, you can't describe it to John. It's disgusting. A mix of a malnourished man and a zombie... with no jaw. Your eyes go wide with horror, but you're lucky that John can't see that look. You shiver, trying your hardest not to shout and alert your presence. Then again, he already knows the two of you are here.

"Rose?" He asks again, realizing you haven't said a word. You instantly shut the closet, scooting as far back as you can inside the close space.

"Nothing. You don't want to know." You say, rubbing his arm as if to coerce him. John doesn't need to see that. You'd rather keep him innoce-... well, more innocent than you. It would make you feel better if you were the one exposed to such horrors instead of him. Besides, you've already seen some other horrible stuff. Like being manipulated like a puppet by large tentacles, seeing your mother's corpse with Jack standing maliciously above her, or watching your cru-... best friend die, then die yourself next to his body.

Yeah, you're not doing a great job of making yourself feel better. Despite doing such a job over the course of your life, you'd better file "therapist" under the "do not ever take on as a profession" folder.

You both sit there in an awkward silence for the next... two minutes, you assume. John looks as if he's about to burst, but you're not sure if it's into tears or anger. You yourself might do the same time.

"John, look at me." You instruct, cupping his chin and turning his gaze towards you. He gives you a look of confusion and terror, but you're going to try and calm him down. "John," You repeat, looking into his eyes. "We're going to be alright. I have a plan."

You thought he looked confused before? _Now _he looks confused.

"What do you mean?" John says a bit loud at first, but instantly whispers. You both flinch as the creature outside grunts, hearing the sound John made. If he-it- _was _about to leave, it's not going to now. John realizes his mistake, but you don't hold it against him.

"I have... a plan..." You struggle to say.

"R-really? What is it?" John asks, excited. He shakes your shoulders just a tiny bit, but you can't blame him. You might have gotten his hopes up just a _bit _too high.

"of sorts."

"Oh." His eyes level out and drift towards the closet door again. You're not doing a very good job of lifting his spirits. Despite being a Hero of Light, you're more on the dark side.

"Well. We basically have to make a run for it." You say, looking a bit sheepish.

"WOah—ahem—woah, what?" John asks, surprised enough that his voice cracks. He scratches the back of his head in embarrassment, but you continue on, not actually forgetting it, but ignoring it to make him feel better.

"Look, when I count to three, just run out the door. Head for the exit." You say rather quickly.

"Woah, wait, Rose, what about you?"

"One."

"Oh, come on Rose!" He says, a bit angry.

"Two."

"Rose!" He says, a bit louder. Grunts come from outside.

"Three!" You yell, dashing out of the closet and ramming into the beast. You can't see John anymore, but footsteps tell you that he's run off. Good.

You're instantly pushed with tremendous strength. Against the wall. Your back hits it hard.

Fuck. Fuck. You twist around, making a break for the door. Except in place of the frame where the door _should _be is the creature itself. All five feet of it. And it's jawless face hanging in disgust.

You're staring into the eyes of the beast.

The thing hits you hard. Across your head. Dazed and hurt, you stumble towards the other side of the room, a warm, sticky substance trickling down your temple. Twisting around, you barely dodge a second attack, and make a break for the exit.

You can't see John. Even if he was there, the haze in your vision would make him seem like a blur. Crashing into many boxes and barrels is evident that your vision sucks.

The creature's behind. You can tell by the grunts. And it sounds like it's gaining. You run faster. It runs faster.

You find another door and run inside, shutting it instantly behind you. The creature bangs on the door, but the metal door seems to be holding as opposed to the flimsy piece-of-shit wooden one from before. Scratch marks tell you he—it's—still there, but the chances of it breaking down that door are slim. Eventually, the noises stop. You can finally rest.

Gack.

Or not.

You feel your temple for the first time since the blow. Well, more like you feel the pain from it. Before, it was too numb to feel. Although, that was more probable from the adrenaline as opposed to numbness. Nonetheless, you crash against the wall, head banging like a fuckin' migraine. Cradling your temples only makes it worse, since the actual five-inch lacerations are on your right temple.

"Oh... fuck." You whisper, terrified that any loud noise will alert the creature again. You never know.

You breathe heavily and fast, the blood draining from your head dripping faster as well. Being intelligent, you know that if you don't stop the bleeding soon, you're going to pass out. The lack of blood evidently leads to a lack of oxygen, and to your brain, that can kill you. Or give you serious brain damage. And that's exactly what your team of four needs: a brain damaged Seer. Kind of ironic.

Pulling your hood over your head, you press the inside of it against your temple. The pressure will help stop the blood flow, but you need something else. This _is _the storage. Maybe there's something here that can help? The alcohol could work.

You take a bottle of some kind of alcohol, not that you care. Dabbing just a bit on your finger, you press it into the wound. It burns like fuck, but it should help numb the pain for a bit. Taking your time to rest your head against the wall, you instantly feel the alcohol kick in. Normally, people drink the alcohol in order to get drunk, thus numbing the pain. But you're underage, and not about to turn into a drunk bitch like...

You mean, a valiant warrior like your mom.

No, no, you're not about to cry. You wipe your eyes and stop thinking about those volatile times. No, you've got a more serious problem right now. Your bleeding head. The pain's gone, but the blood is still there. And you're going to pass out unless you do something about it.

Wait a minute... you still have your needles?

Taking your needles out of a coat pocket, you realize that using the Thorn of Oglogoth could help stitch up your temple. Yeah, that could work. You could take some thread from the storage and attach it. There has to be a mirror around here somewhere.

Yeah, that'll work. You sort through some boxes, taking every miscellaneous piece of wool and thread you can find, and you eventually find a mirror. Granted, it's broken, but that doesn't make it unusable. You get to work. Threading your head is just like threading a new scarf. Just pretend it's a scarf.

You eventually discover that this isn't so bad. The alcohol numbed the pain down quite a bit, so that you can't even feel the needles—Thorns of Oglogoth.

Twenty minutes of work and your head looks good as new. Yeah, it looks a bit like Frankenstein because of the stitches, but they're only noticeable if someone was looking directly at it. Besides, you can hide it well under your hair. Then again, it's not like you're trying to impress anyone here. You're a tad dizzy, but at least you didn't pass out. Passing out in a place like this wasn't ideal.

You take in your surroundings. A small room with two doors, the one which you ran from the monster and will _not _go back through, and another wooden door at the other side. Scattered boxes and barrels hold overflowing crap, most of it alcohol. You decide to scavenge through some of it, trying to sort out the alcohol from the useful things.

And well, what do ya know. Some oil! Your face lights up like... well, a lantern. Granted, it's a very small amount of oil, but some oil is better than no oil. You fill up the lantern, making sure you got every last drop inside, and shut it tightly. Now, for the magic.

_Click!_

The lantern comes to life with a bright light that you were not expecting. In fact, it may have been a little _too _bright, nearly blinding your eyes. You turn it off, deciding to save it for when you really need it. There's already a single lit candle on a shelf; no need for a lantern.

No point in sitting around here. Might as well see where that door leads.

You pull yourself up, using the old wall for support. It's painful, partially because your head is swirling and your legs are pounding from the adrenaline dash from before. Still, you drag across the room, opening the wooden door slowly. Take a look first, avoid chase scene from a horror movie.

At first glance, the room is quiet and dark. There's only a few boxes and shelves, but for the most part it's empty. There's a small counter jutting out from the wall, making a small corner between the corner of the wall and the counter. You decide to slowly enter the room, taking small steps and making sure there isn't some freak behind the door. Nothing. For once.

You walk over to the corner and sit, curled up with your back in the corner like some lost little kitten. Head in the wall as if you were in the backseat, trying your hardest to be comfortable, but your head keeps hitting the seatbelt. And for the first time, you realize that you are truly alone. That John isn't here.

All you care is that he's safe. At least, you hope to Gog—God—that he's safe. He ran out of the room, so you hope he knew where he was going. There were many other doors in that room, so it's most likely he took another door. You were hoping that you had chosen the same door as him, so that you wouldn't be separated right now. But no way in hell are you going back where that... thing is. So you'll just have to keep on moving, and find John somewhere in the house.

Oh, who are you kidding. This place is a _mansion. _And a very creepy one at that. The chances of you finding him in a house with about fifty rooms, twenty of which are cellars, are slim. You sigh, closing your eyes so that you can block the world out for just a little bit.

But you can't fall asleep. Too dangerous. You're not sure if you have a concussion, and falling asleep with one could result in a never-ending sleep. You never wake up. You shiver at that thought, snapping your eyes back open and slapping your cheek in an attempt to keep yourself up.

But it's all too much. And for the first time in awhile, you cry.

Yes, Rose Lalonde, the smart-ass, cryptic, platonic Seer cried. Someone alert the media.

It wasn't really a bawl. Just a whimper, accompanied by a single tear that you quickly wipe away. Even though there was no one to see, crying was not something you did. You learned not to cry long ago, when your mother first started drinking. Tears were pointless.

You creep over the counter, double-checking to make sure you're completely alone. To be honest, you wish you weren't. Not in the sense that you wish the creature was here, but that John was. Maybe you should start looking for him? Yeah, you think you'll do just that.

You stand up, approaching the door on the other side of the room. The door opens easily, maybe a little bit too easily, since it swings open and breaks off its hinges. You recoil, looking around to make sure it didn't alert a nearby... well, the thing if it was nearby. After nothing comes, you take your first step into the new room.

It's a bit too dark. You turn on the lantern, flinching at the blinding light again before holding it away from you. It lights up the place nicely, and you can finally see what you're looking at. Two wardrobes stand on the far side of the wall, another counter like the one from before, and more boxes and barrels. Basically an exact replica of the one from before.

"Didn't the interior designer know the importance of the variety of rooms?" You say out loud, particularly to no one but yourself. You need to talk to yourself, to make yourself feel less lonely. Approaching the counter, you pick up two out-of-place tinderboxes and shove them in your pocket. By now, both of your pockets are overflowing with crap. You might want to stop picking up everything you see.

Maybe you can put stuff in your hood? Nah, that's stupid. Plus, there's a giant bloodstain on the inside from your wound, and you'd rather not bloody everything with it.

The corner looks a bit comfortable, so you set yourself between the counter and wall again, scooting yourself back so that you're nestled neatly into it. And being petite and thin, you fit pretty nicely. Might as well just rest a bit more. No point in wearing yourself down. Besides, you could use the rest.

You want to sleep. Badly. But you tell yourself no. You've never had a concussion before, so you're not sure what to look for in one. Your head feels pretty dizzy, but you're fairly sure your pupils were the same size in the mirror when you were stitching yourself up. Nonetheless, better to be safe than sorry.

Tell that to yourself, because you finally doze off. You deserve the break with all the shit you've been through.

John will wait for you. He always does.


	4. Chapter 4

Every sound that pulsed through the organic walls churned your stomach, twisting your gut in way you never imagined. But it was impossible to tune out such melodies of pain. While disgusting, they had a certain beauty to them. Perhaps that was because, as much as you hated to think such thoughts, these walls were _alive. _Living. Breathing. And it's only now that you ask herself: _where am I? And what the heck is __**that**_? That last question pointed towards the red tissue painted on the wall.

You feel around, for it's too dark to see. Cobblestone floor and unlit torches make the room feel medieval. What year is it, 1311? You're fairly certain that, the last time you checked, it was 2012, right? Although, the clothes you wore made this feel even more like the Dark Ages: a soft, velvety material that resembles a monk's robe. Were you some sort of Catholic Priest? No, no, there was a design of the sun on it. Maybe you were a part of some weird cult that worshipped the sun?

Wait a minute... who _are_ you?

Panic sends your brain scrambling, searching for any recent memories. You come up with nothing: how you got here, any birthdays, family, nothing. But, based on you and your surroundings, you conclude you are a Priestess who has terrible fashion issues in an old castle. You have no idea how you got there, but you want out. Yeah, that about sums it up nicely.

When you lean back, a sharp pain enters your back, sending shivers up your spine and, assuming, a red welt. You pull the back of your robe up, only to discover a lantern. Huh. How conveniently placed. Was it placed on you, or did you perhaps pick it up sometime before your memory was wiped?

That wasn't the only pain you discovered. A throbbing banged against your temple in synchronous beats, like a drum. Your fingers glide over it tenderly, feeling what you assumed to be a cut and dried blood. More questions were raised as you wondered how such a gruesome wound was dealt upon you. And, ore importantly, where your mysterious attacker was now. Of course, it was entirely possible you dealt this to yourself, possibly by falling off a banister or such. But not even that could make such long, jagged cuts. In fact, they were more like claw marks, as if you were attacked by a tiger. Was there a tiger in the building? The idea seemed absurd, but with your last memory, who knows? What other large animals are there that could have done this... panther? Puma? Oh wait, those are the same animal.

A cry echoes in the room, and you stiffen up for a moment, your eyes wildly searching the room. There it is again, taunting you because you can't see it. Yellow, glowing eyes appear from the opposite end of the room. You want to scream, but it feels as if your vocal chords are snapped. It approaches. Your body is sent into a frenzy, frantically trying to pull yourself up until you realize you are trapped in a corner. The creature comes closer, and, although you cannot see, you assume it is baring its teeth and ready to feast. You close your eyes, waiting for your untimely demise.

Nothing.

You open them again, a small squeal coming from in front of you. The approaching creature happened to be nothing more than a rat. Hm, maybe this little guy did this to you? Nah, you're cool, huh, Mr. Rat? You might as well give him a name. Or maybe it's a girl? You decide to name her Lisa. Why? You don't know why; you just seem to like that name.

Okay, well, obviously the only kind of creatures here are Lisa. So what did this to you? You honestly don't want to find out.

You decide you might as well turn on the lantern to get a better look at Lisa. The lantern's blinding light dazes you, and you have a slight feeling of deja vu. Holding it out in front of you lights up the entire room, and the state of it isn't good. Beer and wine bottles, along with various other broken objects and glass, clutter the floor, making it hard to stand up. Amongst those piles of debris, you spot Lisa running away in fear from the lantern. Whoops. Sorry, Lisa!

You carefully maneuver yourself across the room, avoiding the sharp pieces and stopping in the middle of the room. Your lantern flickers off the stone walls, creating an eerie effect. What kind of place is this? You hear more rats scurry across the floor. Shiver. The thick, humid air of the room came in a smoky fog. While the light dispersed most of it, a few patches remained. There are some parts of darkness that light just cannot defeat.

You kick aside some heavy sacks, but their content remains unknown. You assume they are filled with either rice or sand, and right now, you don't feel like messing up this room any more. They take all of your strength to move out of your way, so that they're no longer blocking the wall and hiding something from your view. Pushing the last sack aside, you realize it was just a wall behind it. Nothing more. You even feel around for some secret passage, but the wall is the same as the others. Nothing special about it.

Groaning, you try to kick something in anger, but end up just hurting your foot. That's when you notice there's still one sack on the ground. Pulling it away, you find a small hole in the wall, edging off the ground and stopping maybe an eighth from the top. It's small. Extremely small. You highly doubt that even you could fit through such a hole. You even try to, but even your thin frame can't squeeze through. The darkness that surrounds it keeps you from seeing the other end. Even if you could go through the hole, you have no idea how long it goes or where it leads. It could lead you to a dead end, and you'd then be trapped. Might as well just go back.

You turn around, noticing the door wide open. Maybe you've already come from this way? You can't recall, but it does seem familiar, in some way. It _is, _after all, the only way to go in and out of the room. How else would you have stumbled in here? Or have your unconscious body placed in here, perhaps. Who knows? Maybe you're not alone here.

Sliding the door open slowly, taking a few peeks around just to make sure there's nothing on the other side, you slip into the other room, shutting the wooden door behind you and taking a look around. It's too dark to see anything, so you twist the knob of the lantern you found on your person. The room is almost an exact copy of the one before, mainly messed up in the fact that broken bottles cover the floor. Does this place even have a maid?

That's when you notice the blood. A trail of it, actually, ending at the door from which you just came. Is that... is that _your _blood? What... happened to you? At first, you weren't really worried that your memory had been lost, but now you were truly scared. Not just for the fact that you might be stuck in a medieval castle with some sort of tiger-thing on the loose, but that you might not even be able to regain your memories. Would they be lost forever? You _wanted _to remember, but it's not like you can just knock on the ol' brain and drag them out of the depths. Something has to trigger it, most likely. So, maybe if you check out this room a bit, you can find something about yourself?

You softly kick some bottles across the floor, looking at the hard wooden board underneath the clutter. Old, weary, and definitely filthy, covered in stains. You really, _really_ hope those stains aren't blood. The walls are similar, but stone and cracked. In fact, one of them actually looks a bit more cracked than the others. Maybe if you just... push it?

The wall suddenly comes to life, sliding to the left and revealing a secret passage. You expected that, but it doesn't hurt to fake surprise, even just a little. And besides, what's the fun in building an old castle when you can't even put in some secret rooms?

You step inside, and the wall shuts behind you. A feeling of distress comes over you, but you realize that, even if it was still open, you probably wouldn't go backwards. The lantern keeps the darkness from overtaking you, and you continue down the corridor of stone. It's not too long, ending after about thirty seconds of walking. But it doesn't come to an opening or door or something. It just comes to a dead end.

"Dammit, I knew this was a bad idea!" You curse to yourself, looking around for some other exit. However, there's nothing there. Just more stone walls. You're trapped, like a rat. The lantern begins to flicker, until its light suddenly disappears. You try to twist the top again, but it doesn't spark to life. There's no more oil. "Come on..." You whimper, putting the lantern back in your bag and scanning the walls once more. Perhaps you overlooked something? Another secret exit? You mash every brick in sight, hoping one of them would magically open some sort of exit. But none of the stones nearby the wall work, and you're left in despair once more.

Darkness is closing in. You're out of light, trapped, alone, and you don't know who you are. How could this day get any better?

Your knees buckle underneath you, causing you to fall, the wall being your only support. Hugging your knees to your chest, you don't cry. Somehow, you feel as though you've never cried. All you can do is whimper as you close your eyes and wait for something to happen.

You wait for what seems like hours, although you have no honest idea of how much time is passing. You've been waiting in the darkness forever now, but not even a sound has managed to infiltrate these walls. It's only now that you realize you are completely isolated, the insects crawling about the walls being the only ones nearby. For the first time since you woke up, the gash on your head is thumping hard; although, it may also have just been a headache. Your eyes are still closed; what's the point of opening them when all you can see is darkness?

But then, a bright flash startles you, forces your to open her eyes, hoping for some sort of door to be open. However, when you do, you realize such a flash never happened, and the room was still covered in darkness. Closing your eyes one last time, you sigh and re-enter your sleepy state.

There's the flash again. And it takes you a moment to realize that the flash is coming from within your own mind. You wait for something else to happen, and voices begin to call out. Not to you, but they're talking as if they're by themselves. A boy's voice, you can tell. Full of despair and desperation, like her.

"Where the hell is it? It's somewhere around here, I know it!" A blurry picture begins to form, and you can see a tall figure approaching the middle of the hallway, searching around the area. But, before anything else can be made clear, everything snaps and disappears. You find yourself already standing, walking towards the same area as the boy. What compels you to do so remains a mystery, but you venture over and stand at the same row of blocks as the boy. You reach over and press them all in a row, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does.

"Then what the hell was that for?" You growl, stomping back to the front. At least, you think you're going that way. It's hard to tell what's north and south when it's this dark. But you find yourself at the end, and notice that the wall has finally moved.

It's moved!

Ecstatic, you immediately charge through the opening, knowing that it wouldn't wait long before sliding shut again. The familiar noise of stone against stone clashes behind you, and you know that there's no going back. In place of the opening was now a bookshelf, with the secret lever possibly being one of the books. It was like that for just about every other mystery novel out there. You remember that from many classics like Sherlock Holmes, and-

Wait, you remembered something?

Maybe you can regain it after all.

When you look around, you find yourself in what appears to be a study room of sorts. A desk piled with useless papers and other assortments lies at the end of the room, smack dab in the center of the wall, beneath a blue stained window. Light. For the first time, you've seen light. Maybe it's day outside?

The rest of the room actually looks neat, with a comfy chair in the corner, next to the bookshelf you just appeared from. A trash bin next to the desk, and a second one on the other side are completely empty. All that stuff on top of the desk should be in those.

The radiating light beckons for you to stand in it, and you eagerly accept. It feels _really_ good. You don't think you'll ever take the sun for granted again. Speaking of which, there is that symbol of the sun plastered across your chest that seems to glow in the light. What is that for, though?

You have so many unanswered questions. And how are you supposed to answer them yourself? There's no one here to answer them for you. You're on your own.

_Crash!_

Oh no...

_Crash!_

Whatever is making that noise, it sounds pissed. You take a moment to hide around the door, watching it closely and intently, when suddenly it comes bursting off its hinges. Your eyes go wide with shock, and you stumble backwards, making as much noise as anyone with half a brain could. The thing turns around to face you, already hearing all the racket you made.

Oh my God... it's jaw is missing...

Huge claws on its left hand...

Huge claws... that match the gash on your head.

Hopy shit.


	5. Chapter 5

Your hands fly up to your face in a vague attempt to protect yourself. But who are you kidding? The claws only gash along your arm, ripping flesh from as deep as the bone and causing you to choke in pain, stumbling around and blinded by the pain. You reach out for something, anything, to fight back, and you pick up a chair.

Swinging around with all the force of your good arm, you manage to clip the... _thing _in the side, making it howl and grunt in pain, but not stopping its force. The thing charges at you, its precision and accuracy almost frightening as it claws your other arm, ripping up to the knuckles and barely missing your fingernails. Blood drips off your fingertips and onto the wooden floor below, filling the cracks with red gush. Mesmerizingly, they form a pool and swirl around, just like your vision. It causes you to topple over, the desk your only support now as your legs begin to fail you. But your arms burn in fury as they refuse to hold you up, and you crash to the ground.

_Oh God, please no, not now, no._

The creature turns around.

_No, no, no, no._

You push yourself up with what little strength you have left.

_Leave me alone, leave me alone!_

It's claws soiled in your blood swing.

_No, no, no, no._

You swiftly dodge to the side, its claws marking the table with blood, but causes you to tumble to the floor once more with little balance.

_Not her!_

Even your vision begins to fail you as you find yourself unable to see. White spots of a vague familiarity cloud your vision, but you manage to hold yourself up against a wooden pole. You can't remember how, but you're out in the hallway now. The creature is busy in the room, tearing up the table. You twist around, running in the opposite direction. Any door, any door would work.

Your head bangs again, the slash acting up from your new-found pain. Both arms drenched in blood now, you have to use your shoulder to keep yourself propped against the wall, your arms hand limp by your side. They leave a trail behind on the lower half of the wall, but you don't realize what a grave mistake that is.

The grunts and howls behind you tell you to hurry the hell up.

Picking a random door, you push against it with your shoulder in whimpering pain. Your arms fail to respond to even be able to do something as simple as twisting the door knob. The sounds become louder and closer, and you frantically begin to bite the knob with your teeth. The chilling touch shoots more pain up your teeth roots, but you do your best to ignore it, screaming through clenched teeth.

It's coming closer...

The door finally opens, and you plow through it just as the creature crashes behind you. Your legs are flung backwards, the back of your knee hitting the hinge of the door and causing you to scream in pain. The creature, however, is flung forward, face-planting into the blood-stained carpet. You crawl forward with your forearms, kicking the door shut with the leg that isn't throbbing and swollen.

The creature realizes its mistake and claws through the wooden door, its hinges unable to do shit to the massive power of this beast. You begin to frantically crawl forward, your arms feeling as though you were crawling through glass. Finally, your leg begins to respond, and you are able to stand using the wall as a support. Limping to the end of the hallway, you grit your teeth to keep from screaming.

You hear the door behind you begin to break, sure that the claws of the creature have already ripped through half the door. However, you refuse to turn around and check, only limping as fast as you can towards the steel door at the end of the hallway. As you progress, you notice the walls begin to deteriorate, a red, swollen lump forming on the ground. You trip over said organic skin, the side of your jaw meeting the now stone floor, and a loud crack reverberates the hallway. As you try to sit up, you feel your cheek stinging red, and your arms trapped underneath the weight of your own body.

All you can do is sit there. You give up the fight of your life.

_You wait._

_And wait._

_And wait._

But you realize that the thing hasn't come for you yet. You tumbled onto your back, releasing your torn arms from their prison, and use the best of your abdomen muscles to sit up.

And you saw the carcass of the thing that was chasing you.

A missing jaw. Tiny white eyes. Skin-tight overalls. Decayed skin, almost boiled. The claws of its hand matches the one to your head, and has now made fresh new gashes on both of your arms. You take the time to look down at yourself, your once golden robe now covered red with blood and dust. The image of the sun vanished underneath your own blood, and its only now you come to realization of what happened.

You're literally bleeding to death. And there's nothing you can do about it this time.

There's nothing you can do except try to cover it up. Your hands can't rip off the leather of the thing before you. They hurt... too much. You don't have the strength, anymore, let alone to barely stand. Your knees wobble as you try to stand, using the wall as your only support. Your head tilted up in pain, teeth clenched and eyelids squeezed. After grunts of pain and exhaust, you finally stand up, the pain all over your body finally beginning to numb. At least it won't hurt now when you die.

But you can't die. Not yet. You don't know who you are.

And you can't die until you do.

Stumbling towards the door that was your intended destination, you lift your weak arms up and lightly push it open, not even thinking twice about going back. The thing that chased you is violent... and who knows what killed it.

Oh God... what killed it?

No, no, you can't think about it. Just get out of there before it shows up again. You shut the door behind you with your bad leg, knowing you were unable to rely on it for sole support. Now your limp is only light, but your head is throbbing and arms shaking from both fear and blood loss. The room you entered is large and grand, as if it were some sort of entrance to a castle. The foyer had an overhanging rose window, ones only used during ancient times, and usually in churches. But this wasn't a church, as far as you could tell. And it sure as hell wasn't a castle. The only thing soothing about this place was the churning of the fountain that stood in the center, a young woman looking as if she were bathing herself in the holy water.

You stumble over and begin to do the same, washing the dirt out of your wounds. You grit your teeth in pain, but continue to wash them anyways. The blood begins to drain into the fountain, tainting it red forever. To be honest, though, you don't really care. The circulating water turns from crystal clear to blood red, and you finally finish washing yourself. After you've done so, the wounds on your arms look much cleaner, and less like your flesh was falling off from your skin. It kind of still does, but you can't do anything about that. You only tighten the sleeves of your robe to keep them from spewing too much blood, and move on.

You lift your gaze to the moonlight coming from the window. A rose window... why does that sound so familiar? It draws you towards the front-door, which you find to be locked. Go figure. There's no other windows to bash open other than the one hanging thirty-five feet above your head. Fantastic. You'll have to find another way out of here.

But you have to find it soon. You need help. Your blonde hair is stained red on the right side of your head, and your arms look as if a rabid dog came up and ripped them apart. Yeah, what are you supposed to explain to the authorities anyways? "A giant jaw-less flappymouth came up to me and raked its claws on my skin"?

Yeah... that probably won't go over well.

Shivering from everything from exhaustion, fear, and cold, you stumble around in a wandering path. You don't know where to go, and to be brutally honest, you don't want to go anywhere. You just want to sit here and hope that someone comes to find you... but then again, who's going to check an old abandoned haunted house in the middle of nowhere, Scooby Doo?

You turn your gaze towards the opposite end of the room, noticing a pink flash fall from directly in front of your face. You look up, and see a pot of roses hanging from the ceiling, its petals falling accordingly in front of you. But not just there. They began creating a path through a door, leading somewhere else in this mansion.

Rose petals... that sounds familiar too.

They begin to beckon to you, calling for you to follow. And so you did, each stumbling step bringing you closer towards the door they guarded. The steel door was heavy, but you eventually managed to push it open, your arms feeling weak, and your head light. You push through and hang on, attempting to find a wall you can let your weight fall on. Gliding along the wall, you note that this seems to be some sort of dining hall, a long, dark hardwood table set with various dimmed lights and china plates and silverware. This was obviously set recently, noted by the fact that not a single speck of dust lie on the exquisite ware. Someone was here. They lived in this house, along with those... things. The candles offer little light in the room, but its enough to see so that you have no need for your lantern.

Speaking of that, you better make sure that... oh crap.

It must've fallen off when you were being chased... dammit, why didn't you look before? Crap, now you're going to have to venture along in the darkness without a valuable light source. You suppose that you can just take one of the candles for now.

Suddenly, you feel a shift in the movement along the ground as you try to pick up the candlestick, only to have it automatically twist in a counter-clockwise motion. The walls begin to churn as you realize the fire-place behind you is spurred to life, the wall inside twisting to reveal a secret passage.

Just how many "secret passages" does this place have? Well, what are you complaining about? It's offering another route, and you'll take what you get. Although, to be honest, you are a bit tired of such cliché things. You're tired of all these stupid, idiotic moments.

Well, that's another thing you remember: you hate cliché things.

Well, well, looks like you're on a roll with this memory stuff. Maybe soon you can remember why you came into this mansion in the first place. But the only way to figure that out is to advance further. But, you might as well check this place out first.

At the far end of the wall is a large mirror, and only then can you finally get a good look at yourself. Your face is pale beyond fair, and you realize that a dark cloud of puff surrounds your eyes. You were wearing mascara? Your entire monk robe is torn to shreds, mainly revealing parts of your arms and torso. Mostly arms. But your eyes. That's the creepiest thing. Your eyes are an unnatural shade of violet, and, while beautiful, signify a darkness within. Or, at least, you're pretty sure. Oh, what the heck are you talking about? That doesn't even make sense.

Your body seems to curve only slightly, displaying a mainly slim and fit figure. Muscles hardened suggest evidence of a war, and scars along your stomach suggest you were nearly killed. But, this scar was always here, you're pretty sure. It seems familiar.

You do your best to wrap yourself up with the cloth on your body, drenched red with blood on mainly your sleeves and legs. A bit of your wild blonde hair, mainly the tips, are stained as well. You sigh to yourself in your un-ladylike appearance and shudder at the thought of anyone seeing you like this. It could be supposed that being by yourself is both a good and bad thing. You wouldn't want anyone else to be sharing this cruel fate.

But, then again, maybe its not fate. Maybe you're here on your own free will? That doesn't make sense, seeing as all the horrors inside this haunted mansion, which you assume actually is a haunted mansion. Perhaps you just didn't know of what lurked inside at the time. All these hypotheses are giving you a headache.

You turn around and take a seat at the dining table, feeling its dark burgundy wood, just happy to finally be able to sit after a long chase. You finger your plate, realizing just how hungry you really are right now, and that's when you notice a clump of paper sticking out from underneath it. You promptly remove the plate and fix the crumbled letter, flatting it out against the cloth of the table.

_5/1/05_

_I don't know why father doesn't like me playing with Callie. I mean, she's nice and all, and we're such great friends! Miss Larlie says that it's because father doesn't want me to marry her, but why? I mean, I don't even like her like that, but what's so wrong about even just being friends with her?_

The note isn't long, but the handwriting is neat and pristine. The words wound like that of a child, but the handwriting is too neat for a child. It was written in o'five... who writes letters in o'five?

Wait... o'five... that means that the year must be 2005, or after. Good to know it's not in the medieval times. Or maybe you're dreaming you're in the medieval times? Nah... this is all too real for a dream.

You glance over your scars.

All too real.

You crumble the paper back up and stuff it in your pocket, suddenly feeling another scratch against your skin. Confused, you pull out whatever it is in your pocket, and stare at it in awe. Another paper, the same tint as the last one. You fix it and read.

_4/6/05_

_Today, I went out and played with Callie today. We only had a few minutes together, though, 'cause Daddy came out and scolded me. He forced me inside and said goodbye to Callie. He asked me why I hang out with a poor girl like her. I told him I liked her, and..._

One month before the first... er, second... er... whatever. You obviously picked this note up beforehand, and you must've done this before you lost your memory. A clue... of sorts.

You hear a voice begin to ring in your head, but its too fuzzy to make anything out. A boy's voice, again, but too distorted to make out words, or at least, English words. Tossing the thoughts aside, you approach the fireplace as you thrust the notes back into your pockets. Crouching hurts like hell, but you finally managed to begin crawling into the soot-filled tunnel.

You won't stop until you find out who you are.


	6. Chapter 6

Silent, heavy breaths warm the tight space of the tunnel, blowing back into your eyes and making them burn. You huff to blow the dust out of your face, which is clinging to your cheeks and nose for dear life. On more than one occasion, your hand has been caught in a spiderweb, freaking you out, and ultimately causing a lump to form on your head from jumping to the ceiling, which is only two inches above your head. Going dizzy, whether from pain or insanity, you pull yourself along the foot and a half space, a faint ringing thumping in your ears. It almost seems as though the walls are moving, slowly, barely an inch, and closing in on you. For just a moment, your heart skips a beat as you imagine the walls closing in on you, trapping you without even a chance to escape. But you eventually convince yourself that this is just pure imagination, and you continue along.

At least, you hope it's your imagination.

As you crawl down the tunnel, you feel the passage starting to become narrower, until you're basically retracting your shoulders to your sides. Crawling forward with just sheer torso will, you slither across the charcoal stone, blind as a bat, until-

_Splat!_

You fall flat on your chest, a loud "oof" echoing in the corridor. Your legs dangle above you, still half inside the tunnel, but as the walls shift, a hard, spine-crawling sound signaling the tunnel closing, and your new surroundings emerging to your senses. You quickly pull your legs out before they are squeezed by the walls, and try to stand up, heart pounding through your chest as you try to make out where you are. It's too dark to see anything, and you don't have a lantern. Good going, whatsyourname.

A horrible, pungent smell covers the air like a cloud, impossible to escape. While you try to breathe through your mouth in order to keep the odor out, but the smell is strong enough to leave an aftertaste in your mouth. The air is thick and humid, a sour, bitter taste to it that resembles dust and decay.

Laying on the floor, exhausted, for just a moment, you breathe heavily as you realize just how thirsty and tired you are. Throat raw and sore, tongue dry and rough, lips cracked and puffy. As you breathe, even slowly, the dust that has begin to gather around you floats up, light as a feather, and cover the stone floor. Oh, do you _have_ to get up? Can't you just lay here for the rest of your life?

Something will probably come along—in which something, you mean that monster—and probably kill you if you sit here any longer. But, to be honest, you're beginning to not even care. Even if you were to get up, where would you go? You're blind as a bat, lost, hungry, thirsty, cold, and tired. You can't recall a single thing about your life, and you're in a strange place that has monsters for people. However, you have a feeling that getting out of here will help you. Well, duh, but not just in the sense that you'll be alive, but that you might remember something about yourself.

Picking yourself up groggily, you blindly wave your hand around to look for something to grab onto, a support, and crawl forward a bit. Eventually, you push the palm of your hand into what you assume to be a wall, and hoist yourself up, groaning in agony every inch of the way. Once you've finally stood up, you stumble around a bit trying to find your balance.

It's too dark to see, and you're forced to walk around waving your arms in front of you to keep yourself from bumping into anything. You're fairly certain that you look completely ridiculous, but it's not like anyone else is here to see it. And even if someone you knew was here, you wouldn't recognize them. You can't even remember your Mom, or your Dad. Do you even have parents? Or maybe sisters, or even brothers? It's all very troubling for you, makes your head pound, so you decide not to think about it for the time being.

Breathing in deep and slow, you brush past a wall, the paint just barely grazing your shoulder, and find yourself in what you assume to be a very large room, for the fact that you've been stumbling around for awhile now trying to find the other wall. However, it seems as though there's absolutely no furniture in this area, as well as the floor and walls both being stone, and you assume it has a very high ceiling. What exactly is this? There's no windows to let in moonlight—or sunlight—as well as no candles or such to keep the room lit. Maybe it was some sort of room under renovation? But renovation would mean someone was living here, and the only "people" you've seen are those monsters.

God, none of this makes any sense, and it's only making your temples hurt even more. Why can't you just find a bed? A bed sounds really nice right now. Just take a long nap, one that you hopefully won't wake from, and you won't have to take this anymore.

But, a part of you doesn't want to give up. To keep going on, and have the faith that you'll make it out of this.

You grit your teeth in frustration as you give up your search, falling flat in the middle of the room, and whimpering. All you wanted was to get out of here. Was that so much to ask for? Apparently so. Whatever is out there is coming for you, and you know you have to get a move on, but your legs don't seem to respond as you try to stand up. You just sit there, heels under your weight, without a single care in the world.

No, you should keep going. You finally come to the conclusion that sitting in this room won't do anything, and it was best to just keep moving. Even if you don't know where the hell you're going.

After forcing yourself up, you continue in the direction you were walking, instantly slamming into the wall. Rubbing your nose a bit too violently in anger, you curse to yourself and realize that you had just been walking in circles the whole time. This place is really starting to get to your head.

Using the wall as a navigator, you find a flight of stairs in your path, and decide to go up them. You continue along the wall, until you place your hands on something wooden and thin. And, after a bit of searching, you finally find the handle. You don't waste a second in opening the door, shutting it behind you softly, so not to make any noise to alert anything in the vicinity to your presence.

You walk slowly, steadily, so not to bump into any furniture, and eventually come across a candle. The wick and wax are familiar to you, but if only you could light it somehow. Maybe you can use something here? However, you can't see anything, and trying to find a match of sorts in the dark would be impossible. Instead, you just stuff your hands in your pockets, fall to your ass, and huff in frustration.

That's when you discover the tinderboxes in your left pocket.

Oh.

Now, if only you knew when you picked these up. No matter. You light it up, and, while the light isn't intense, it covers a large area, and nearly lights up the entire room. Granted, the room is small, and looks like it could be some sort of guest room. A nice bed sits in the middle of the wall, a single end table next to it, a chair on the other, as well as a cabinet and bookshelf on the opposite end of the room. Other than that, the room is practically empty. However, the area of the room doesn't give much space to put furniture, so it seems even smaller than it probably is.

You don't even care. You just flop onto the bed in exhaustion, rubbing and burying your face into the soft and clean sheets. While you normally would've been worried about clean, dusted sheets, you were just too tried to care. Sleep comes easier than it ever has before.

Still groggy with sleep, you groan and whimper, and maybe also a slight giggling...? You pull at the sheets, cold sweats drenching your body. You're not sure if you're still dreaming, or if you're half-asleep, nor do you know how long you've been asleep. You don't care, and will probably just sleep for another five minutes. However, you find yourself biting your lip nervously, afraid to open your eyes and see a monster standing over your bedside.

You decide to open your eyes, slowly, and try to breathe slow and steady, in case anything actually is there. Nothing. You twist your head slowly to scan the rest of the room, but instead of finding a gross monster over you, you find a pair of blue eyes. And they are filled with surprise.

You shriek and kick whatever it is away, pulling at the sheets to protect yourself. Reaching behind to grab whatever you can, you throw it at the stranger in terror, and a pillow goes towards their head. It land harmlessly to the side.

Whoever, whatever, it is, it's trying to go towards you.

"No, no, no, no, no, go away!" You shriek, "Go away!"

"H-hey, hey, stop!" It calls to you, but you don't listen. However, it's much stronger than you, and it instantly pins you down with its arms. But they're human arms. They feel familiar. "Oh God, I can't believe you're alive... I'm sorry I scared you, but you were sleeping and you looked so peaceful so I thought I could give you a break and stuff, and I mean... what the fuck is up with this place?" It pulls away from you, head buried into its hands, and groans. "I just can't believe you're okay. I'm so glad you're okay. I keep blaming myself for letting you get hurt, I'm so freaking sorry."

You just stare at it in confusion, eyes wide with horror and fear, and the words slowly leave your lips:

"Wh... who are you?"

The blue eyes meet yours in shock, mouth agape and catching flies. "What... what?" It says. "Rose, what do you mean?"

"I... I don't... who's Rose?" You question, slipping back as he comes closer.

"Oh God... no, no, this can't be happening, please tell me I'm hallucinating, like those bugs, please tell me, please."

What bugs? What is going on here? How does this person know you? You're surprised that you've found a human, and apparently one that knows you, but...

"I-I'm sorry if I'm causing you stress, but I honestly don't know what you're talking about." You apologize, but you're not sure if it's sincere or not. The boy buries his face in his hands once more, clutching his hair and remaining silent.

He doesn't speak.

"Uhm... hello?"

And suddenly, he rushes forward and presses his lips to yours.

Shock courses through you as your whole body begins to tingle, especially your lips. He continues, but you try to push him away with both arms and legs.

"Stop... stop it!" You growl, finally managing to push his weight off you and kick him in the gut. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He suddenly goes bright red. "I-I'm sorry!"

"What the hell did you think that would accomplish?"

"I... I dunno!" He curses to himself, "Fuck, I just thought... if I... that I could just... I dunno, help you remember?"

"And kissing me is supposed to jog my memory? What are we, a couple?"

"W-well, no..." He gnaws on his bottom lip, and while it does have a vague familiarity to it, you ignore it. "L-look, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I just was... just so worried... sick to my stomach thinking if you were okay after we were separated, and-"

"Shut up." You command, and the boy instantly shuts his mouth. He's holding his knees to his chest, a fetal position almost, as if he's sacred of something. Which, it seems like he is. You are too, but this seems like something more than just monsters and demons. "What's your name?"

"J-John... but..." The boy named John just shuts his mouth, realizing that his attempts to jog your memory aren't working. To be honest, you're not sure if you can trust him. But you might as well try to get what you can out of him.

"And what is my name, again?"

"Rose." He says, a smile to his lips this time. "It's a really pretty name!"

Rose... huh. Maybe that's why those rose petals sounded so familiar? Could've been just a coincidence, but who knows when you can't remember a thing. For now, you decide you will believe the boy until you have reasonable doubt that your name isn't Rose and you don't know him.

"Okay then, John, what are we doing here?"

"Oh! I, uh," he trails off, as if he was trying to think of how to explain it, "well, uh, I think we were doing some sort of favor? I can't remember exactly what we were supposed to get now, but I guess we can't really get it now if you don't remember, huh?"

"Stay on topic." You say.

"Right. Um, anyway, uh, We got separated, and I dunno what happened to you after that. Well, I guess I actually do: you got amnesia. But I guess you already know that, heh, heh... I'll just shut up now."

You contemplate on his words for a moment, his face eagerly waiting your response. You're not sure what to make of this, but it couldn't hurt to pry some more information out of him.

"I, uh," he suddenly continues, "I... I escaped after the closet, and I think I ended up going up the stairs. I figured that's where you'd go to get away, so I took that route. But when you weren't there, I thought about going back down to go get you, but I knew you probably would've scolded me for doin' so. So I just wandered around the house, which was really dark, and I think I was going insane for most of it. When I saw you lying here, I was pretty sure I was hallucinating again, and just sorta sat here to make sure you were real. Seems you were since you didn't disappear and are now talking to me, heh."

You raise an eyebrow, a throbbing coming from your arms now. You grit your teeth in pain, but do your best to ignore it. John, however, notices, and his eyes trail down to your arms. "Oh... oh shit... oh fuck you're hurt, and it's my fault." His hands go forward to hold yours, but you pull away. You're not sure if you're liking this guy so far.

"Look, I appreciate what information you've given me, and while I'm not completely certain if I trust you or not, I suppose I have no choice right now."

He just nods solemnly, getting off the bed and straightening out his outfit. That's when you notice that he has the same pajama medieval-esque theme, but blue colors with a wavy symbol on it. That can't be a coincidence, can it? Unless everyone else wears those things.

His eyes seem to be trailing over your body, and while you would've slapped him for it, it seems he's mostly gazing at your wounds than your curves. And, this time, you feel bad, making it feel as though looking at you hurt was killing him on the inside. You're not sure why, but, after all, while you don't know him, he must know you. Somehow.

"So... is it okay if I stay with you?" He asks sincerely, scratching the back of his head in anxiety. "I know I probably didn't give a first-impression. Or, well, second-impression, since I already know you, but you lost your memory and stuff."

"I would rather go through these horrors with someone else than by myself, even if it is a complete stranger." You admit, leaning back on the bed in exhaustion. "Do you mind... if I just rest more?"

He nods and give a soft, "Yeah," sitting down next to you and facing the other direction, careful not to invade your private space. You groan in pain as you lay back down, trying not to irritate your still-healing wounds, and yawn.

"Tired?" He asks, trying to make some form of conversation.

"Yeah." You mumble, mouth buried into your pillow.

"Y'know, I'm probably going to apologize to you about a thousand times until you remember. And then probably a million times after that."

You're not sure what to say. "That is, if I remember."

He seems hurt. "Yeah, if."

You wish you could remember. You really do. Despite not even knowing him, you hate to see him this sad and depressed. It seems as if he genuinely cares about you. Or maybe not. It could be some sort of ploy to either... well, do things, or to even kill you. You're not sure you trust him, and you refuse to fall asleep in front of a stranger. But you're too tired to care, really, and you're pretty sure you could just wait until he falls asleep to slumber yourself. In all honesty, you're not sure if meeting him was a good or bad thing, but you really hope you can remember soon.

Your lips still burn from that kiss, and you're not sure if you liked it or not. It didn't spark anything, memory-wise, so you're not sure what to make of it. To you, it was a total stranger walking up and kissing you. But there was something more to it, as if you liked it...? That sounds stupid, but you can't help but wonder... who is this guy? And how exactly does he know you?

"I hope you remember soon, though. Even some of it would be okay. I miss you."

A pang forces your heart to skip a beat at those words, gripping your chest in agony as you hear the hurt in his voice. It seems as though he really cares. You're just glad you're not alone anymore. It makes you wonder what he's seen in this house. Is it the same as you? Or was he lucky, and has yet to be exposed to the horrors? You really don't care, but he seems a bit too goofy and stupid to have seen what you've been through. And he didn't have any blood on his clothes, from what you could tell. You, on the other hand, are drenched in it. No wonder he freaked out about your health.

You just really hope you can remember soon. Maybe not for your sake, but for his sake too.


End file.
